A New Adventure Takes Place...(or "Has she lost her every-loving mind?")

     Over three years ago when I started my new job at the Marriott, I thought I had the coolest job in the world. I remember walking the back hallways where only employees could go and seeing how everything runs behind the scenes. To me, this was an amazing place to be. I loved my job. It was actually fun to go to work and be around happy, fun people. Those were the people I worked with! We were friends! We would laugh over things we dealt with that only we understood, what we experienced. Non-hotel people just didn't get it.  I was excited to go to work more days than not. Even the cranky, entitled guests didn't phase me. It was their issues and had nothing to do with me. Work became my escape from a scary, depressing home life.

     And then I was promoted last December to restaurant supervisor. I was so proud of my new position and the fact that someone thought I could handle a position I'd never even considered taking on. The job was exhausting but I loved it. Loved my co-workers and my employees. I felt like I had a purpose, like I was making a difference. I was proud of my work. I was proud of me. Loved making guests happy when they came into my restaurant, bar, ordered from room service, bought a coffee at Starbucks. I was proud to be in the position I was in.

      I was never bored at work. We welcomed the days or a week of lulls between busy conventions and meetings, because when we were busy, we were really slammed. It was exhausting. Until three months ago, the exhaustion wasn't a bad thing. Have a couple of days off, or a couple quiet, low occupancy days at work, and you recover and were ready for the next slam. We were a team. We worked together, especially during hard times, or when we were short-staffed and made it all work. Those were fulfilling days. I loved being part of a team. Somewhere in the last few months, that opinion, that pride shifted. Going to work was no longer fun. At least more times than not, I didn't want to be there. School was suffering. Creativity was gone. I know, isn't that normal for a "job'? Who really wants to work? Isn't that why it's called "work" and not play? But that wasn't it. That shouldn't be it.

     I was in New York visiting my oldest son and his family for my 53rd (yes, I said it. I'm 53!) birthday last June and somehow it became a time of reevaluation of my current life. I had ten days where I had stepped away from my home, my job. I'm not sure what triggered it. Maybe because it was time. Maybe it was because I was another year older and I was stuck. I felt stuck. I always said that I felt like I was standing on a cliff waiting for someone to build a bridge to the other side. Even before getting this position. Somewhere after my divorce. I didn't know what I was doing or where I was going. I'd lived in Utah for three years, not the place I ever thought I'd spend a year of my life, let alone three. I was planning on moving into a new place because the old place seemed to have become a dark spot in my life and Luke's. Bad ju-ju so to speak. I didn't want to be at work and I didn't want to be at home. I felt like I was lost. I felt like I was just hanging there, with no where to land. It was time. Major changes had to be made.

     I came home from New York and decided that I would be making a pilgrimage next May to Spain. One more thing that I wasn't sure how it had come into my life plan, but it had. I had watched a movie last year called "The Way," about a man who goes to Spain to pick up the dead body of his son who had been walking the Camino de Santiago, but that's a whole 'nother story for another blog post. I knew it was something I absolutely would be doing. I had to do it. Until then, I knew I would stay at my job until next May to save up money and then I would quit to walk the Camino de Santiago for 45 days (because I figured they'd probably never give me a month and a half off for "vacation"). After that, I'd figure it out. Wherever life led me. Or Heavenly Father. You know.

     Then about 5 weeks ago, after an altercation with an employee that was so out of the blue, so unneeded, so ridiculous, it hit me. I couldn't do it anymore. There wasn't one more day, one more hour that I could continue as restaurant supervisor. Funny thing is, I had been warned by this same employee last November that taking this job would be a mistake. She said it was a hard job, one with very little satisfaction and even less pay. She was telling me as a friend, because we were friends at the time. Anyway, this altercation sent me home that night to make a very hard decision. After 9 months of no respect, hearing "You're working alone tonight?", or "Do you know what you're doing?" I couldn't do it anymore. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. An ulcer that had been long dormant and caused as a result of the ex-boyfriend, was flaring up again. I spent many nights crying after work, during work. Not because of angry guests or problems at home. It was because of what I was experiencing right in my own office, my place of work. 75% of the time, depending on whom you were working with, it was a very hostile work environment. Being me, I was taking it personally, and I was taking it home with me.

     I'm pretty laid back. Really. I feel I expect very little from my employees other than doing the job you're paid to do. Work ethic. Most of the time, I prefer laughing with my employees and co-workers, even when we're busy. Especially when we're busy. I feel that part of gaining respect from your employees is that they like you a little bit too. Having fun at work, even while doing your job, makes it easier to clock in. Even when we're slammed from a convention, we could still have fun. That was part of being a team. I saw a sign once: "Being part of a team means making sure everyone is on the bus, not being thrown under it." I was being thrown under the bus way too often.

     That night after the altercation, I laid awake until 5:30 in the morning. I was upset. I was physically sick. I cried off and on for hours. I really didn't take what she said personally. It was that she had cornered me in my office and yelled at me, not over work related things. She was angry over personal things. She said I had changed since getting this position. It was about un-friending her on Facebook, telling her what to do at work (essentially asking her to do her job), "dating" her ex-husband (three dates...over a year ago). Nothing to do with work. Absolutely nothing to do with work. What got me was that it was SO personal. The last straw. I couldn't trust the people I worked with. Backstabbing, gossipy, under-the-bus throwing, lack of respect. Things that had been happening for so long, long before I was hired, that it had become acceptable behavior. Not just to me but other departments as well. This wasn't a job I could stay at. Not even until my trek across Spain. Not even until my one year mark in December. Realization hit. It hit hard. I was done.

     Two days later I was back at work. The two days off had given me time to think and time to talk to Luke to make sure he was okay with my decision. This was his future also. I was quitting a job that helped me contribute to the household. I was still getting spousal support but, without a full time job, things would be really tight. Strangely enough, neither of us were worried about it. We weren't stressed about it. We both knew it was the right decision. Just in case, so I wasn't rushing into anything that I would regret later, I waited two more days of work before sending my boss an email that would end my job as the restaurant supervisor. I told no one. Didn't tell my family, didn't post the announcement on Facebook, didn't hint at it to anyone, didn't tell my co-workers. I kept it quiet. I wanted to make sure it was the right decision. And I cried as I typed up my resignation letter. It wasn't an easy decision to make. Not at all. I loved working for the Marriott. My boss had planned an important trip to North Carolina mid-August. I told him I would wait until he got back from vacation. Then a few days later, when word was out, my co-supervisor mentioned that she had a family vacation that she had planned and she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to do it. I said I would wait until she got back. Essentially I gave a five week notice. I am that nice. It's what I do.

     I realized throughout all of this that my true passion, writing, was something I hadn't done since last November. I had stopped feeling the joy. Stopped feeling inspired. Was there a correlation? Probably. That's when I decided that what I really wanted to do was find a job I could do from home. With that, I could finish college, pursue my writing goals, and even have time for much-needed creative pursuits. With that, I could also avoid the back-stabbing, screaming, angry, rude, drama-filled, throw her under the bus, gossipy co-workers. I could sit at home and do what I had always intended to do: Do your job and go home. No drama. Nothing more than a job. I would figure out how much work I needed to do, how much income I needed to have to be able to pay the bills, and find that job. Every Facebook meme that passed my way mentioning making that risky step, pursuing the dream, or being fearless spoke to me. And I felt at peace. I knew I was making the right decision.

      So, without fanfare, after five weeks of knowing I was leaving, yesterday was my last day as restaurant supervisor at the Marriott. Those that liked me told me how much they would miss me and how much they wished I wasn't leaving. One of my employees bought me lunch, another bought me a Starbucks lemonade as a way of saying goodbye. I was hugged, told I was loved, and wished well by so many. Those that didn't like me never said a word. Just asked when my last day was. Luckily, those employees/co-workers were the minority. Four, maybe five people. That said a lot about who I was. Because a part of me really still loves that place, I went on "pool status," meaning that if they need me in the restaurant department, whether running trays in room service, covering a hostess shift when they are short-staffed, or filling in as "lead" when a supervisor or manager needs time off, I would be there. The fact that they would rather put me on pool status than lose me completely also said a lot about who I am. And I took great pleasure in telling those four/maybe five people who didn't like me that I was going on pool status. (insert evil grin here)

      So, today is more than just another day off. I am officially unemployed. I haven't really had time to fully pursue a new job. I've applied at a few places, even have a virtual interview with one at-home job (that I'm not sure I really want). I still have my painting instruction classes at Michael's and I can increase my schedule there. I haven't fully unpacked my boxes since moving into my new apartment almost a month ago. Today I have cleaned, listened to inspiring podcasts by my favorite author, Elizabeth Gilbert, relaxed, and hung out here on Blogger for the first time since last November, writing my heart out. I don't think that it has completely hit me that I don't have a job. Give me a few more days. Right now it feels like another day off from work. Except that I'm not dreading clocking in tomorrow. Tomorrow is kind of another day off, I guess. It is finals week in my Spanish class so I have that. I still have unpacking. And so many creative things I am going to do. The weight has lifted.

      Look out world, here I come.

Forgive Myself?

     Talking to my "life coach" (I always put it in quotations because I kind of think it's a silly name. Isn't it more like inexpensive therapist?) the other day and I thought I was doing well going through the whole apology letters to people I felt have caused me to be angry today. I wrote those letters and I was feeling pretty good about myself. He was right. It was a huge release to do it. 
     So, when I met up with him (after he'd printed out and read the letters), I was feeling good. I wasn't feeling emotional. We met in the middle of his restaurant prior to the opening. No problem. Just a casual chat about what I'd written. Somewhere in there, the tables turned. I'm not sure what happened but suddenly I was crying. In the middle of a restaurant. That had opened. Swell. 
     Like I said, I'm not even sure where it started. I know I was already upset (internally) because of a couple things I'll touch on later. Somehow we got on the subject (that I was upset about) and then I was gone. 
     Okay, fine. I'll just tell you now. It would make more sense if I do, right? When I was twenty, I got married. I'm pretty sure I've told this story before. Anyway, I got married, had two kids, and got divorced all in about 6 years. Here's what happens when you get divorced when you have little kids. It becomes a game of visitation. It's bad enough when your kids are little (which is why I'm a huge advocate for not getting divorced, especially when your kids are little), but then they grow up, get married, and have kids of their own. And the visitation competition continues.
     It's not bad if your adult child lives out of town. It IS bad if you don't have money to fly out and visit all of the time (or more than once a year). It becomes worse when they come to town and they have to split their time between you and your former spouse. 
     And grandchild birthdays. My grandson turns two this year, right after Christmas. I don't have a lot of family living here in town. Just me and my sons. No reason to have a big birthday party. Nobody to invite. My ex and his wife, on the other hand, have tons of family to invite. Am I jealous? Of course. It's probably dumb. My grandson has no idea that a big birthday is important because it's not. It's not at all. And it's dumb for me to be jealous or upset or whatever. That cute little kid won't care. It's a cake and balloons and a ton of people singing Happy Birthday. And he won't have any idea what it all means. He's 2. 
     Look what talking it out with all of you has done for me. I'll throw that cute kid a party for just me and my sons and whomever shows up. We'll have cake and ice cream and presents and it will just be a celebration. And it doesn't even have to be on his birthday. Because he's 2 and he won't know the difference. That's awesome. I'm good now. Moving on.
     So, because that day I was upset about this particular issue, it brought up regrets. Regrets are a bag of crap that you drag around you like a horrible weight and they don't matter because they are in the past. Yes, I get that. I told my life coach I hang onto my "regrets" because they remind me to not do it again. Right? Isn't that what they do? Well, no. I really don't think they do. Have I learned enough from past mistakes to never do them again? Nope. I can say that I have not. Sadly, I have not. Why? Shoot. I don't know. I'm dumb. I'm human. Bad judgment. It's all dumb. 
     And this is when he told me I had to forgive myself. FORGIVE MYSELF? Are you serious? Yes, your 20 year old self (20-25) was young and she made mistakes. Forgive her. And that was the final blow. Why can't I forgive her? She made a buttload of mistakes (yes. A buttload). She left her two little boys behind to go after what SHE wanted. Would she have done it when she was older? No, she would not have. She got remarried when she was 27 and had two more kids. And she could never imagine leaving her kids behind. She would not have done at 27 what she did when she was 23 or 24 or 25. Sadly, two to four years made that much of a difference. 
     SO, why was she so dumb at that age? Why did she make those mistakes? I look at my children. My daughter is 23, the year I made my first HUGE life changing error. She's making her own choices, and a lot of them I don't agree with. BUT, do I hold a grudge against her? Nope. Not a one. I have talked to her about paying attention to my past mistakes and learn from them but she wants to live her life, experience what she is going to experience, and make her own mistakes. And there is nothing I can do about it. She will learn on her own. Should she know better? Of course. She's not dumb. She's young.
     My youngest is 21. He's a funny kid. He has made many mistakes and I just shake my head. Do I hold a grudge against him? Nope. He's young. He won't always make these mistakes. He'll grow up and he'll learn and chances are he won't make the same mistakes when he's older. 
     My mom doesn't hold my past mistakes against me even though I screwed up more than once. She just kept loving me. I KNOW I hurt her many times over. I know she was worried about me. I know she was disappointed in me. But she's still here. She still loves me. She has thanked me for being me. Do I think she'd do that if she was ashamed of me? Nope. 
     SO, the magic question is "Why do I continue to feel ashamed of the girl I was 30 years ago?" You tell me. It's dumb, right? 
     That young girl made me who I am today. She was funny, cute, sweet, loving, kind, and slightly messed up. But I DID in fact learn from it. There are many things I don't do now that I did then. I am kinder, more loving, honest, more thoughtful, more sweet, (still cute), selfless, and I've turned into a caregiver because of her. She was self-centered. I am not. (atleast I hope I'm not). She walked away from her children when they needed her. I would never do that. Just ask my kids. 
     She just did what she knew to do. She was young. She was dumb. She was probably lost. She was undoubtedly REALLY lost. Poor thing. 
     What would I tell her if I could have met her and talked to her? 
    

   Everything is going to be awesome. 

     Four gorgeous kids, an adorable little grandson who will crack you up all the time. Life will be incredible. You'll get to travel, and live in five different states, and spend time with family, and go to college for Heaven's sake! And paint, and teach, and meet lots of really wonderful people. And make lots of really great friends. And you'll love. Love A LOT. And you will eventually find forever love. I haven't yet, of course. Not forever love. But eventually you will. I will. Your heart will be broken many times. You will cry a lot. You'll be sad. There will be loss. But you will become a survivor. All of this crap you go through will make you stronger. Make you more loving. You will make a difference in someone's life. And your children will love you. 
     And I would hug her for a really long time and we would cry together because we understand eachother, and what we have gone through and what we will go through. Then we'd laugh because we'd be all embarrassed over the fact that we were crying. 
     And then we'd sit down, crack open a Diet Coke and some peanut M&Ms and I'd tell her about her children. And her grandson. It would be amazing. 
     SO, have I forgiven my twenty-something year old self? 

                                   Yes, I have. 

Attraversiamo

 


One of my favorite authors is Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love. I've always felt a connection with her books. She sometimes writes as though she is in my head, and sometimes she says exactly what I need to hear. This was one of those days (I stole it off of Facebook).

Word of the day...

Oops, I mean: WORD OF THE LIFETIME.

Dear Ones,

A sweet reader named Jackie painted this for me, gave it to me the other night at my event in Cleveland. I love it and I will keep it always.

Readers of EAT PRAY LOVE will remember this as the last word in the book. Italian for "let's cross over" — the most elegant way I can imagine to remind myself to let it go, to put it all behind you, to face the future rather than dwelling in the past, to stand up and try again.

Another way to say it, I just realized, could be: ONWARD — my other favorite word.

Today, let's share some stories of crossing over.

I will start with one from me. Lately I've been really showing up for my work on processing forgiveness. Much of this is inspired by having met Iyanla Vanzant, whose e-course on forgiveness I've been taking all month. 

I had no idea how much work I had to do on this subject, y'all. I mean, I knew I had some garbage in my heart and mind, but I hadn't realized just how MUCH resentment I was carrying around still. As I've done my work on this, I've discovered that what lurks at the very deepest bottom of all my old resentments is usually nothing but a pile of my own shame. (Shame for my own failed relationships, shame for having been stupid or a sucker, shame for my own inadequacies and mediocrity, shame for not having handled things better, shame for still holding on to ancient anger, etc.) 

And instead of trying to force all of those negative feelings out of me (I've never had any luck forcing negative feelings out of me...How 'bout you?)I've been making all kinds of interior space to allow those feelings to be revealed, to give them space to breathe, to accept them as human, and to forgive myself for all my own perceived faults and shortcomings. 

In other words, all my work on forgiving others has unexpectedly turned into a giant exercise of self-empathy. 

Which has, by accidental extension, turned into an exercise in feeling greater empathy for everybody else, as well...stuck as we all are in these crazy-town human minds. 

Which has, ultimately, led to a great and sudden diminishing of old resentments.

Which does, in fact, feel like crossing over.

So that's been nice. (TO SAY THE LEAST.) And I'm grateful. Because, like you, all I ever want is to be more free.

So what about you?

How have you been crossing over lately? Let's share some stories of liberation and its rewards.

And, of course, ATTRAVERSIAMO!
LG

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